


North and South

by Mandylei



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25491016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandylei/pseuds/Mandylei
Summary: Uhtred rode north to help Ragnar conquer Dunholm, not knowing he would be bringing back more than the satisfaction of Kjartan's death. Freeing Thyra from her prison and accepting the oaths of two Scottish warriors, Uhtred returns south.
Relationships: Finan/Ethne, Gisela/Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Original Character/Original Character
Kudos: 11





	1. The Fall of Dunholm

**Author's Note:**

> This work begins with the fall of Dunholm (Season 2, Episode 4). I will be following the events of the show for the most part. However, characters from the books, or tributes to characters from the books, will appear occasionally. Also, two original characters have been added to the main narrative.

A young lad, braver than his companions, swung his wooden sword at the sleeping man before running back to the shadows. His friends grinned and thumped his back, impressed by his daring. 

The children watched the strange man, nearly naked and covered in bruises, pull himself out of the dirt. He rubbed his side where the wooden sword left a red mark, his dirty fingers checking for blood. Tucking long red hair behind his ears, the man’s watchful eyes found the children. He cracked his neck, ignoring the heavy iron collar around it, and stalked toward them. 

The children took an involuntary step back. The stranger could not get to them. He was chained to a thick post in the yard like an ill mannered dog and they were careful to stand outside his reach. The man wrapped one hand around his collar to ease the weight of the chain from his throat as he neared the end of his tether. He licked his split lip and studied the children. They stood huddled together, their fear pinning them in place. The man creased his brow and started to chant strange words. 

“He’s putting a spell on us,” one of the boys whispered.  
“Red haired people belong to Hel!”  
“Like Sven’s witch!”  
“Run!” 

The children, having used up their bravery, ran as fast as their short legs could carry them. The chained man watched them disappear down an alley. 

He turned back toward his spot by the thick wooden post, glancing up at a movement in the sky. A goshawk circled the cloudless blue and the red haired man frowned. Hawks were a sign of good luck to his people. He dropped his eyes to his ragged feet and shook his head. The gods must be playing a joke on him. 

Trudging back to the post, the chained man’s dirty fingers brushed a crescent moon tattoo below his collar. He whispered words he hoped the gods would hear.

\---------------------------------------------------

Shouts rang through the dungeon’s dank air, rousing its two prisoners. They stood in their cells, craning to hear the voices outside. 

“What is it?” the older man asked, tugging on his grubby beard. He would never admit his ears had lost some of their acuity to a fellow Dane, but the Scot in the other cell bore him no threat. 

The younger man’s lips parted as he tilted his head, straining to understand the shouting. “Warriors at the north gate,” he answered, his accent twisting the Danish words.

The older man, Egil, shook his head. “No one would be foolish enough to attack Kjartan.” He sat back down against the cold stone wall with a grunt. “Dunholm can’t be breached.”

A Scots curse came from Iain’s cell before he switched back to Danish. “Every fortress can be breached,” he argued. He rubbed a calloused hand through short dark curls and began to pace, muttering to himself. 

Egil laughed drily, without mirth. “Your optimism won’t free you from Kjartan’s cruelty, pup.”

“My name is nae ‘pup.’”

“What does a name matter to a man who is not free?”

Iain stopped pacing and turned to Egil. His dark eyes held a surprising intensity. “All a slave owns is his name.” 

Egil held Iain’s gaze and then nodded. 

The shouting overhead grew and both men glanced toward the ceiling. Kjartan’s unmistakable voice rang out across Dunholm.

“He’s yelling to kill them,” Iain said in a low voice. He flashed Egil a disbelieving look. “They’re inside.”

Egil’s answering smile could have curdled milk. “Well,” he answered, “your name might be worth something yet.”

\--------------------------------------------------- 

Dunholm’s courtyard surged with fighters. Kjartan’s men swarmed like wasps out of a nest, attacking the warriors breaching the fort. Sword blades flashed in the sun cresting over the eastern wall. 

In the center of the chaos, Hild stabbed her knife into the chest of a young Dane. His wide eyes stared at her as he fell and Hild froze, stunned at taking his life. 

“Hild!” 

She snapped out of her daze, spinning toward Beocca. A Dane raised his sword to swing at her and Hild stepped back, raising her blade. 

A heavy chain looped around the Dane’s throat, jerking him away. He dropped to his knees in the dirt, his face turning purple as he struggled to breathe. Behind him, a red haired man gripped the chain, his wiry arms trembling with the effort. 

The Dane’s eyes rolled back and the redhead dropped his chain, lunging for the Dane’s sword. His wild eyes met Hild’s and he said something she did not understand. 

She shook her head. 

He jerked his chin toward Beocca and spoke again before turning toward a Dane who stumbled too close. Hild watched the chained man plunge his stolen sword into the Dane’s stomach before she ran.

Kjartan screamed. Men fought and bled and died. The north gate swung open and Ragnar’s army streamed in to join the battle. 

Hild saw the chained man kill another Dane as the shield walls formed. He ripped his sword out of the Dane’s chest, kicking the man’s body away.

The chained man stood alone, trapped in the no man’s land between two shield walls. His long red hair dripped with blood. He turned his gaze to Ragnar’s men, his eyes finding  
Hild’s. An unreadable expression crossed his face before he turned to face Kjartan. 

The red haired man screamed, the wordless feral rage of a trapped predator. His bloody sword pointed at Kjartan’s shield wall and he uttered a curse, his voice full of disgust. 

Ragnar pushed his men ahead. His shield wall grunted as it ground forward, swallowing the chained man and moving around him like a river around a stone. 

Hild placed herself beside the stranger, several rows behind the shield wall. 

The man looked at her, his brows drawn over startlingly green eyes. A blood stained hand tucked some hair behind his ear before he pressed his palm against his chest. 

“Kai,” he said, his voice hoarse. He tapped his chest and repeated it. 

Hild’s eyes widened as she understood. She pointed at him. “Kai?” 

He nodded, a relieved look on his face. 

"Hild,” she said, putting her hand over her heart. 

Kai smiled and ducked his chin. “Hild,” he repeated softly. 

At the shield wall, Ragnar challenged Kjartan, forcing him out from behind his men. Hild watched as the two men circled between their warriors, taunting one another. Their swords clashed and the crowd cheered. Hild noticed Kai did not cheer. Neither did she. 

Ragnar stumbled, landing on his knees in the dirt. Fear bled through Ragnar’s shield wall as his men screamed encouragement. 

Kjartan did not press his advantage. Instead, he yelled insults at Ragnar, hoping to humiliate him before killing him. It did not work. 

Ragnar launched himself at Kjartan, knocking Kjartan’s shield out of his hands and then pushing him into the dirt. Ragnar’s sword cut into the man with brutal efficiency. 

Hild looked away and saw Kai’s lips moving. With his eyes closed and his bloody fingers pressed against his chest, Hild thought he was praying. Her own fingers clasped her cross.


	2. Reunions

“Ragnar Ragnarson holds Dunholm now,” Sihtric said, stepping out into an alley so narrow the sun did not penetrate it. 

Egil nodded, stretching in the fresh air. “I’ll swear to Earl Ragnar. His father was a great man.” He turned to look at Iain. “You should too, if he’ll take a Scot.”

Iain squinted up at the blue sky, a sight he had not seen in weeks. A breeze blew through the alley and Iain turned his face into the wind, smelling the aftermath of battle. The stench filled him with a fierce joy. 

Sihtric studied the Scot. Kjartan’s dungeon had been a surprise. Sihtric remembered Egil from his time in Dunholm. The man had grown thinner and his beard held more gray, but he stood as straight as ever. The other man was a stranger. He was well built, tall and strong. Thick black curls and a beard covered most of his serious face, though his intelligent eyes seemed to notice everything around him. Sihtric felt sure the Scot’s dark eyes had already scoured him and made some sort of judgement. 

“If you’re planning to return north,” Sihtric said, drawing Iain’s dark eyes, “I don’t know if Earl Ragnar will offer a horse. And it’s a dangerous road.”

Iain nodded, an unreadable expression on his face. “I’ll be needing to find someone before I go anywhere,” he said. “A man with red hair? Tattoos? I don’t know if he’s still in Dunholm.”

“Is he an enemy or a friend?” Sihtric asked.

“A friend,” Egil answered, watching Iain, “they arrived together.” 

Sihtric nodded. “He’s in Dunholm, but we can’t understand a word he’s saying.”

“Where?”

“In the courtyard,” Sihtric answered, pointing down the lane, “they’re searching for the blacksmith to remove his collar.” 

“Thank you,” Iain called, leaving the alley at a jog.

\----------------------------------------------------

Clapa dropped a load of shields in a pile by several unclaimed swords. He stretched his body, trying to work the soreness out of his back. 

“I don’t like it,” Aethelwold said, tossing a sword onto the pile next to Clapa. 

Clapa looked over. “What, lord?” 

“That savage,” Aethelwold said, jutting his chin at Kai where he sat in the dirt, leaning against the thick wooden post. “He’s been watching everything like a hawk. No doubt he’s planning who to kill first once he’s free.” 

“Is he, lord?” Clapa asked, turning a concerned face toward Kai. 

Finan walked up, a slave behind him. “Good news,” he said as a greeting, “I’ve found the ale. Winning is thirsty work.” 

Aethelwold drank his first mug greedily, holding it out for a refill before Clapa took his first sip. 

“I don’t like that man,” Clapa said after a long drink, his eyes trained on Kai. 

Finan gave him a surprised look. “Why?” 

“He looks dangerous.” 

Finan laughed. “My dear Clapa,” he said, “are you afraid of that skinny, beaten man?” 

“No!” Clapa said, refusing to admit he had ever experienced fear in his life. 

“Did you see him flirting with Hild?” Aethelwold asked, steadily draining his second mug of ale. 

“I did not,” Finan said with a smile, “though I’m sure that was a sight.” 

Finan’s sharp eyes watched Steapa walk back into the courtyard. His stern face looked annoyed and Finan could see he walked alone. 

“You found that blacksmith yet, big man?” Finan asked, already knowing the answer. 

“I have not.” 

“Just as well,” Finan saided, “Clapa here’s afraid of the wee shite.” 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

A shiver ran up Kai’s spine. Someone was watching him. 

Kai slowly scanned the courtyard. A still figure, standing across the yard in the shadows, caught his eye. Kai’s body went rigid. He watched Iain step into the courtyard and walk toward him, stopping an arm’s length away. 

Kai pulled himself up off the ground. 

The two men stared at one another. 

“I didnae think it possible for you to get any thinner,” Iain said quietly in Scots. 

Kai gave a soft laugh, his eyes blurring. He tilted his head in acknowledgement. 

Iain stepped closer and wiped a tear from Kai’s cheek. He glanced down at Kai’s naked chest and bare feet. 

“And you’ve lost your clothes,” he said. 

“Too much work getting them laundered,” Kai shrugged. His eyes combed Iain’s face. “Decided to grow your beard out, I see.” 

“You don’t like it?” Iain grinned, self-consciously running a hand through his scruff.

Kai wrapped his arms around Iain, swallowing a sob. Iain buried his face into Kai’s shoulder. He felt Kai struggling to steady his breathing, not making a sound.   
“I’ve got you,” he said, tucking Kai’s face into his chest. “I’m here.”


	3. Which Way the Raven Flies

A raven soared past Dunholm, heading south. Uhtred watched its progress from above the open gate. Now that Kjartan and Sven rotted in Niflheim, Uhtred once again looked to the gods for a sign of his path. He had chosen to stand over the north gate in the hopes that a sign to continue north could be seen more easily, but the raven was headed south. And everyone knew the ravens belonged to Odin. 

Uhtred frowned, turning his gaze back to the north as light footsteps sounded on the stone steps.

“Remind me to never piss off Ragnar, lord,” Finan said, leaning against the stone wall and following Uhtred’s gaze north. “What’s left of Kjartan’s men either swear oaths tonight or leave. No one’s to leave Dunholm until then.”

Uhtred nodded, but stayed silent.

Finan watched Uhtred out the corner of his eye. He wanted to ask about Uhtred's plan. Now that Dunholm was in Ragnar’s hands and the blood feud had been settled, would Uhtred be heading north to Bebbanburg?

Movement on the road below caught the gaze of the silent men above. Kai and Iain picked their way through the discarded arrows and spears on the road. Iain carried a pack on his back while Kai trailed cautiously, like an injured man. He still wore no shirt and the scars and blood across his back made Uhtred’s skin twitch at the memory of a whip.

“I thought you said no one was to leave,” Uhtred said blandly.

“Ragnar gave them permission to bathe in the river, lord,” Finan answered with a nod to the east. “They’re to be back before dark.”

“Any trouble getting his collar off?” Uhtred asked, watching the Scots step off the road and into the high field grass.

“The pin was rusted,” Finan answered, “but no trouble once we found the blacksmith.”

Uhtred noticed Finan’s tone and glanced at him.

“Bastard hid in the hay loft,” Finan continued disgustedly, “thought he’d escape tonight with one of the horses.”

“And now?”

“Gone to his gods now, lord,” Finan said pleasantly.

“Good,” Uhtred said. The Scots had moved out of his sight, but Uhtred was still thinking about them. “How did they get here?” he asked, his voice so low that he could have been talking to himself.

Finan’s sharp ears caught the question and he shrugged. “I’m sure it’s a good story, lord.”

Uhtred nodded, pushing back from the stone. “One I want to hear.”


	4. Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhtred's comments about his father's beliefs on Scots are paraphrased from the book series.

Iain led Kai into Dunholm’s great hall. He stood by the door under the guise of looking for a free place to sit and hoped that no one would notice the tension in his face. He felt Kai’s fingers brush his back and turned to see Kai’s lips pressed in a line.

“I hate this fucking hall,” Kai whispered, his eyes running over the room.

Iain agreed. “Let’s just get through the next few days.”

Kai nodded and pointed across the room. “Hild,” he said, leading the way. 

Kai smiled a greeting to Hild and gestured toward the bench opposite her, his eyebrows raised. Hild nodded and men scooted down to make room. 

“Glad you two could finally join us,” Sihtric said in English, pulling a large plate of bread, cheese, and meat from under Clapa’s nose and shoving it toward Iain and Kai. Two mugs and a jug of ale followed.

Kai felt Clapa’s steady gaze and tried to ignore it. Kai spoke a few words in Scots, ripping a hunk of bread in two and handing one half to Iain. 

“Thank you,” Iain said to Sihtric, pouring the ale.

“You’re both looking much better,” Hild said.

And the Scots were. Iain had sheared his dark curls and beard close enough to hug his skull and jawline. Clean and dressed in well-fitting clothes, his pale skin was the only sign of his captivity. Kai’s recovery would take more time. His new clothes, despite originally belonging to the thinnest man of Kjartan’s army, hung loose around his skinny frame. His clean shaven face looked too thin and he had tied his long red hair back, putting his bruises and raw skin on display. 

Kai caught Hild studying him and he grinned, his green eyes darker in the candlelight. 

'Once he heals, he’ll be quite handsome,' Hild realized. She gave her head a small shake and took a drink to hide her thoughts.

\-----------------------------------------------

“How are you?” Kai repeated after Iain in English, watching a lazy tabby sunbathing in the dirt. He wished with every fiber of his being he could be that cat. 

Iain nodded. “I am well, thank you.” 

Kai groaned. “Why do I have to learn this stupid language?” he asked, reverting back to Scots. He rubbed his temple, trying to relieve the headache building there. 

“You know why,” Iain answered. “And you learned Scots. You can learn this.” 

Kai’s chin jutted out as he looked toward the north and the trees beyond Dunholm’s wall. He muttered in his native tongue, speaking words Iain did not understand. 

“What?”

“Always learning the languages of the oppressors,” Kai mumbled. 

“Be grateful I’m only asking you to learn English,” Iain said in Scots. He switched to English and repeated, “I am well, thank you.” 

“Iain, Kai,” Sihtric called, jogging up to where the Scots sat on the wall. “Lord Uhtred and Earl Ragnar wish to speak to you.”

“Do you know why?” Iain asked. 

“No,” Sihtric replied, “they did not say.”

Iain translated for Kai. 

Kai pulled himself up off the wall. “Thank the gods,” he said in Scots, “anything to stop this lesson.” 

\---------------------------------------------------

Uhtred sat in Ragnar’s great hall, watching a slave bring mugs and ale to the table. Beside him, Ragnar complained of a headache. Brida sat a little further down the table with Finan, her eyes following Ragnar’s gaze. Uhtred did not doubt the slave girl would be leaving Ragnar’s hall soon. She was pretty, though nothing to Gisela. 

Clapa sat at a table behind Finan, cutting slices out of an apple and eating them slowly. Uhtred suspected Clapa was only eating the apple as an excuse to have his knife at hand. Despite Finan’s wife, Ethne, being Scottish, Clapa seemed to be holding on to his suspicions about the northern bastards.

Iain and Kai followed Sihtric into the hall and Ragnar gestured for them to sit across the table. Uhtred watched Iain take his place first, saying a quick “thank you, lord,” as he did so. Kai followed Iain a little slower, wincing slightly and without a sound. Sihtric walked past the Scots to sit beside Clapa.

“The ale’s good,” Ragnar said, gesturing to the jug.

“Thank you, lord,” Iain said in English, before turning to Kai and speaking in their language.

Kai turned to Ragnar and gave a quick nod of thanks. He reached out and poured two mugs of ale, placing one in front of Iain. Uhtred noticed Kai did so with his left hand. Was the man left-handed? In the chaos of the battle yesterday, he had not noticed. 

“You wanted to speak to us, lords?” Iain asked, turning from Ragnar to Uhtred.

“Where did you learn English?” Uhtred asked. He reached out and refilled his own mug, feigning less interest than he felt.

“My father’s priest, lord,” Iain answered, “he was from Mercia.” 

“You’re a Christian?” Brida asked, her lips twisted in disgust. 

“I am, lady.” 

Uhtred eyed Kai. He sat quietly, his sharp eyes bouncing from speaker to speaker. A crescent tattoo peeked out above Kai’s shirt collar. 

“Your friend doesn’t look like a Christian,” Uhtred said. 

“He’s not, lord,” Iain answered, “the northern tribes still follow the old gods.” 

“Thor and Odin?” Ragnar asked, surprised. 

“No, lord, different old gods.” 

“How many gods are there?” Ragnar asked with a disbelieving laugh. 

“If you are a Christian,” Brida interrupted, “why did Kjartan not just kill you?” 

Iain turned toward Brida and Uhtred saw a muscle in his jaw jump. “I suspect he would have in time, lady. Though I also speak Danish and I think he wished to use my skills first.” 

“You didn’t learn Danish from a priest,” Uhtred said. 

“No, lord. I learnt it from a slave.” 

Uhtred nodded and took a drink. He watched Iain lift his own mug. 

Kai leaned closer to Iain and spoke quietly. 

Iain answered and after a moment Kai spoke again with a shrug. 

“What does he say?” Ragnar asked. 

Iain turned to Ragnar, but his eyes darted to Kai at his side. “He says I should not be nervous, lord. He asks what there is to fear from you.” 

Ragnar laughed. “We could kill you,” he suggested. 

Iain translated Ragnar’s words to Kai. 

Kai looked at Ragnar and smiled, speaking to Iain. 

“He says you’d be doing him a favor, lord,” Iain said, “returning him to his gods.”

Ragnar laughed again and nodded. He held his mug up to Kai and drank. 

Kai joined him with a grin. 

“Enough of this,” Brida said. “Explain how two Scots found themselves below the border in a Northumbrian fortress.”

“Yes, lady,” Iain answered, glancing at Brida but not holding her gaze. He cleared his throat. “King Aed sent men across the border,” he said, “to weaken Lord Aelfric of Bebbanburg.” 

Uhtred’s eyes caught Finan’s down the table and Finan raised his brows. 

“We stole his cattle and worried his farmers for weeks,” Iain continued, “until Aelfric’s men caught us in a narrow valley.” Iain’s eyes dropped to the table. “Only a few of us escaped. We did not know about Dunholm or Kjartan’s reach.” 

“Did your commander escape Aelfric?” Uhtred asked, his voice even as he said the name of his oldest enemy. 

“No, lord,” Iain answered, “he died in the valley.” 

“Yet you escaped?” Uhtred asked. 

“Only because of Kai, lord,” Iain said. “I’d been knocked out of my saddle and a man had his sword over me. Kai cut the man’s throat and hid us in the trees. He saved me and four other men.” 

Kai heard Iain say his name and he glanced around, feeling the appraising gazes in the hall. He frowned.

“Tell him I’ve decided not to kill him today,” Ragnar said, grinning. 

Iain translated Ragnar’s words and Kai laughed. He tilted his head to Ragnar in acknowledgement. 

“He says he’s disappointed, lord,” Iain translated. “He was just beginning to like you.” 

\------------------------------------------------------------

Ragnar waited until the Scots followed Sihtric out of the hall before turning to Uhtred with a grin. “I want the redhead,” Ragnar said, “you can have the Christian.”

Uhtred laughed and poured himself more ale. “You can have them both,” he answered, “they’re too much trouble.”

“Hmm?” Ragnar asked through a drink.

“My father said Scots are mad devils,” Uhtred said, “and fighting one is like trying to geld a wildcat with your teeth.”

Ragnar roared with laughter. “All the better!” He said pounding the table. “I can throw them at the West Saxons and finally defeat your pious king!”

Uhtred caught Finan’s eye as his second in command took Iain’s place on the opposite bench. He saw the question there. Would leaving the Scots with the Danes benefit him? 

Uhtred rankled under his oath to Alfred. He had to return to Wessex and he did not want to fight the Scots. He had seen Kai kill Kjartan’s men. If Kai was that ruthless while weak and chained, what was he capable of after a few months of regular meals?

“Finan,” Uhtred said, “let the Scots know that I would take their oaths.”

“Aye, lord,” Finan answered, glancing at Ragnar’s shaking head. 

\----------------------------------------------------------- 

Kai glanced toward the alley as another drunken shout filtered through the barred door. A single candle on the floor provided the only light in the small room. Kai lay on his stomach across the bed, his pale skin glowing in the weak light. Iain lay beside him, propped up on an elbow, his other hand trailing through Kai’s long hair.

“I dinnae trust him,” Kai whispered, absentmindedly picking at a loose thread in the blanket. 

“You dinnae trust anyone,” Iain said, his voice light. 

“I like Earl Ragnar better.”

“But do you like his woman?” 

Kai sighed. “No,” he said, “Brida is trouble.” 

“So what do you want to do?” Iain asked, gently untangling a knot. 

“Go home.” Kai smiled weakly. 

Iain looked at him and did not answer. 

“I know,” Kai said, closing his eyes. He buried his face in his arms. 

Iain felt Kai’s back tense and knew without looking that Kai’s mouth was pressed into a line.

He pulled his fingers out of Kai’s hair and dropped down so his face rested inches from Kai’s ear. “If we join Lord Uhtred, we can get away from here,” he whispered. “We can gather our strength. Earn some gold. Buy a few horses. And then, when we’re ready, we can find somewhere else.”

Kai took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. He lifted his head and Iain saw a muscle in Kai’s jaw twitch.

“I know you’re right,” Kai said softly, “but I don’t have to like it.” 

A soft smile spread across Iain’s face and he moved to drop a kiss on Kai’s shoulder, right on a patch of freckles. 

Kai turned his head and looked into Iain’s dark eyes, just inches from his own. “You’re wrong, you know,” he whispered. 

Iain raised his eyebrows. 

“I trust you.”


	5. Returning South

Aethelwold stepped out of Ragnar’s great hall, scratching at an itch below his belly. He squinted at the crowd in the courtyard saddling horses and loading provisions for the journey. A flash of red caught in the sun and Aethelwold’s eyes widened. 

Across the yard, the two Scots waited by a pair of horses. Kai held a dappled mare, discreetly feeding her a carrot, while Iain stood a few paces away tying his loaded saddlebags onto a brown mare. 

Aethelwold’s gaze found Uhtred and he hurried across the yard, ignoring his hangover. 

“Uhtred!” Aethelwold exclaimed in a low voice, not wanting to be overheard. “You’re bringing the Scots?” 

“I am,” Uhtred answered, his voice languid as he checked the tightness of his saddle’s girth. “They gave me their oaths last night.” 

“But they’re Scots,” Aethelwold argued, “you can’t trust the oath of a Scot.” 

“And I can trust you?” 

Uhtred’s sharp eyes pinned Aethelwold in place and Aethelwold squirmed under the penetrating gaze. 

“Of course you can,” he said, giving Uhtred an awkward smile. “We’re friends.” 

Uhtred nodded, patting his stallion’s flank. “I am fortunate to have so many loyal friends.” 

“Yes, but” Aethelwold struggled to gather himself. “You can’t take the Scots to Wintanceaster, Uhtred. Alfred would never allow it.” 

“I am not taking them to Wintanceaster,” Uhtred answered, glancing over at the Scots. He saw Kai slip a piece of apple to his horse. “I’m taking them to Coccham.”

\-------------------------------------------------

“Iain!” Egil stepped up to the Scots, looking over their horses. “I see you’re not taking my advice to join Ragnar.” 

“We’ve seen enough of Dunholm for now,” Iain answered. “We’re going to see the plump fields of Wessex.” 

“And how did your friend swear his oath to Uhtred, not speaking a word of any civilized language?” 

“He speaks Scots.” 

“Like I said,” Egil said with a grin. He held up a newly painted ash shield, blue with a red cross. “Take this,” he said, “with Uhtred as your lord, you’re going to need it.” 

Iain took the shield, hefting it onto his left arm. He met Egil’s eye and held out his free hand. “Thank you.”

Egil clasped Iain’s forearm and then glanced away. “Don’t be a stranger,” he said. “If Lord Uhtred comes north, I expect to see your Scottish ass with him.” 

Iain laughed. “I’ll make sure I am.” 

\-------------------------------------------------

Kai held the heavy weight of Iain’s newly gifted ash shield against the front of Iain’s saddle. Iain quickly tied a complicated knot to keep the shield in place over his left knee while they rode. Iain nodded and Kai released his grip and stepped away. 

“Your northern friend has no shield,” Finan said, approaching the Scots and looking over Kai’s horse. 

“I think he’s too skinny to carry one,” Sihtric speculated, sauntering over on Finan’s heels. 

Finan nodded, giving Kai a once over in the morning sun, pleased to see that his bruises were fading. “We could just turn him sideways during the battle,” Finan said, “he’d be too small of a target to hit then.” 

Kai raised a brow at Iain, assuming Finan and Sihtric joked by their tone. 

Iain translated their words to Kai. 

Kai laughed. He gave Sihtric a long look of appraisal. He spoke a few words and shrugged. 

Iain smiled. “He thought he might be using your head as his shield,” Iain translated. “He thinks it might be thick enough.”


End file.
